Chapter 68: Code Black

"Meredith…Meredith?"

Dr. Wyatt's crisp voice broke her out of the state of lethargy she suddenly fallen into during their session.

"I'm sorry, I just…" she trailed off dejectedly searching for the right words.

"You look tired. Have you been sleeping?" prompted her the therapist. "Have you been sleeping since you broke up with Derek for the second time?"

"I have," sighed Meredith. "It's just… this morning… and I…"

The older woman looked at her expectantly.

"I have a feeling," began Meredith. "I had to force myself out of bed today. I'm not depressive, or suicidal… but I have a feeling… like I might die today."

"Can you explain it closer?"

"No, it's just the thing. It can't be explained." Meredith rubbed her forehead absentmindedly. "It's like a quiet board."

"You might be seeking closure," stated Dr. Wyatt rationally. "The year's ending, the time left till the announcement of the rankings is ending, your relationship with Derek is ending-"

"It's not that," Meredith shook her head violently. "It's a hunch, it's…. Something's going to happen."

"Are you waiting for something to happen?" asked shrewdly Dr. Wyatt. "Something that could change your life that is now a mere day-to-day existence? Something… to take away the pain you're denying?"

"I'm waiting… for the feeling to pass," Meredith answered quietly. If she didn't believe it would pass, she'd have to leave Seattle Grace and never look behind.

"Something happened between them," commented Addison more to herself than to Mark who was standing beside her at the nurses' station. "I know it did."

Derek had just entered into their view seconds ago but upon spotting Meredith, he swerved abruptly into one of the side corridors; not without throwing a hasty look in her direction, a look of longing and sadness. The maneuver didn't escape Meredith's attention. Her gaze, in turn, was searching and preoccupied as well as full of unyielding determination.

"Yeah, yeah, something happened between them," Mark sighed dropping his head down tiredly. "I think we established that a few days back. Repeating the same sentence over and over again will take us no closer to knowing what exactly happened."

One thing, however, was certain. Whatever brought the sudden shift in Meredith and Derek's relations took place the evening of the Christmas dinner. The next day, they saw him with that miserable expression on his face that didn't leave him since. He dismissed their questions of concern and didn't mention Meredith's name even once. He ceased talking about her, asking about her or gently stalking her as he used to. Instead, he avoided her, got out of her way.

"I think they talked," spoke up Addison as they started to walk towards the cafeteria to grab their lunch. "They must've talked, right? Derek wouldn't just stop caring like that."

"Maybe she verbally abused him one time too many," shrugged Mark. The situation was getting to him. Despite the appearances, Derek was in a complete meltdown and Mark had to cover his ass in front of Derek's family – worried about Carolyn and his inquisitive sisters. He could imagine what a sophisticated kind of torture he'd be forced to endure if the Shepherd women got the wind of Derek's true state of mind.

"That didn't deter him for weeks," Addison shook her head.

They entered the cafeteria and joined the object of their conversation in the most secluded corner of the room, chewing on his vegetarian salad.

"Trying to starve to death now?" frowned Mark putting his tray on the table.

Derek sighed audibly but continued to eat.

"What are you, deaf, catatonic?" Mark felt his patience evaporate.

"I'm trying to eat; if you find that disturbing, sit somewhere else," bit back Derek.

"Whoa! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," came the dry answer.

"Derek, we're just trying to help, to be there for you," pleaded Addison. "Don't shut us out. Don't act like Meredith, please."

"And by that she means stop behaving like an ass you're not," muttered Mark under his breath.

"I appreciate your concerns, but you can't help me," he sighed and lapsed into silence.

Addison and Mark shared a quick look, agreeing it was no use pursuing the topic. It would only push Derek into headstrong obstinacy.

"It's over, it's finished."

They both looked up from their plates as Derek's voice, hollow, worn out, slightly surprised, cut the silence unexpectedly.

"That's it, there's nothing left," he went on.

"Did you have another fight with Meredith?" asked Addison. "Did she put you through the ringer for the Christmas dinner?"

"No," he denied, the corners of his lips curling slightly upwards. "She was actually sweet about it."

"Sweet?" Addie blurted out, shock painting on her face.

"She thanked me… and then proceeded to tell me she didn't love me and didn't want to be with me. She didn't yell. She just explained… rationally and efficiently."

"I… don't know what to say…" murmured Addison trying to wrap her mind around what she heard.

"There's… nothing left to be said," chuckled Derek bitterly. "It's all been… said and done. And that's mine," he muttered as the beeping of a pager interrupted their conversation.

"Wait, you're going to Joe's tonight, right?" asked hurriedly Mark.

"Honestly, I don't know," he answered getting to his feet.

"Come on, man! It's New Year's Eve," argued Mark. "You know what they say, the whole year's like it's beginning. Do you want to begin it wallowing in your self-pity in solitude?"

"No, of course, I prefer to begin it drinking my ass off in a bar," Derek snorted cynically and departed.

"What have we got?" demanded Derek urgently, pulling gloves over his hands as he entered the exam room.

"Tucker Jones, 35, lost control of his car, it flipped over," one of the interns answered immediately. "He's got a chest contusion and a head CT shows a left side depressed skull fracture and temporal epidural hematoma. GCS 14 in the field, now down to 12. His motor exams are intact."

Derek gasped slightly and leaned in to look at the patient's face. There was no mistake, it was indeed Tucker Jones, Miranda Bailey's husband…

With a deep frown of concern creasing his forehead, he hastily examined the injuries and ordered, "Let's give him a gram of Dilantin and 70 of mannitol. Mr. Jones, Tucker, can you see me? It's Derek Shepherd, I need to do an examination on you, okay?"

"My wife… I need… my wife, she's..."

"Don't worry, we're going to find Miranda as soon as we can," assured him Derek. "Mr. Jones, squeeze my fingers for me, please. "

"My wife…" repeated the patient dully.

"Tucker? Hey, I need you to squeeze my finger, ok?"

The machines started beeping and milliseconds later Tucker's body shook violently.

"He's in a seizure, get him on his side, watch his arm," fired Derek turning him sideways with the help of an intern. It was going to be a difficult case, he remarked inwardly, even so as the patient was the husband of one of his friends. But Derek was also guiltily glad as it was a perfect release from his thoughts; from the one thought in particular, the torture thought that he and Meredith were history, one that would not repeat itself. "Let's get him to the OR. Watch his arm, watch his arm."

Meanwhile, in OR 3, Owen Hunt was getting ready for a different kind of procedure. He saw many things in his career, during his service in the army especially, but the thing with life was that it could always burp some astounding surprises along the way. Like right now, for example. Half an hour ago, the ambulance delivered a man with an extensive chest wound, the heavy bleeding dammed only with a paramedic's hand, a paramedic's hand pressed deep inside the body cavity that was.

It wasn't going to be an easy textbook procedure but the atmosphere in the room was light, mainly due to the aforementioned paramedic, a 22-year-old Hannah, who was currently entertaining everyone with her chatty disposition.

Owen took his place at the table, about to start the surgery, when the door bust open revealing a harassed-looking resident, completely out of breath.

"Dr. Hunt?" he panted. "I need to speak with you."

"I am in surgery, Schaffer," answered Owen lifting up the scalpel, nevertheless.

"You want to talk to me, Sir," insisted the younger man.

Owen threw him a searching look and decided to hand away the instruments. "Unhook me."

"Schaffer, if you interrupt me, it better be for a-"

"Was it through and through?" he questioned feverishly.

"What?"

"His wound, was it through and through?"

"No, there's just an entry, no exit. Why?" frowned Owen.

"Mr. Carlson and his friend built a replica of some World War II weapon, like a bazooka," Dr. Schaffer hurried with explanations. "They wanted to fire it, it didn't work. Carlson went up to check what was wrong and then… well, then it worked."

"Wait, he shot himself with a bazooka?" Owen tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

"According to Mr. Carlson's playmate, there wasn't an explosion…"

Owen slowly turned back to face the team gathered inside the operating room all looking up at him with mild curiosity. His eyes slid over Hannah and the length of her arm that dipped inside of his unconscious patient.

"Hannah, what do you feel inside of Mr. Carlson? What is your hand touching?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is your hand touching anything hard?" he clarified. "Like metal."

"Uhm… I don't know," Hannah's face was all set-in concentration under her mask.

"Don't move your hand. Just tell me what you feel."

"Uhm, my fingertips are touching something… kinda hard. Yeah, definitely," she nodded.

"Hannah, I don't want you to move. Not your hand, not your body. Not an inch," he admonished, then turning to the resident still standing in the doorway. "Dr. Schaffer, I want you to walk out of this room. Walk, do not run. Go and tell the charge nurse that we have a code black. Tell them that I'm sure and then tell them to call the bomb squad."

He could almost see in his mind's eye the girl's hand brushing the ammo. He sighed, it looked like the warzone found him even in the confines of Seattle Grace.

That was how it was supposed to be, a difficult case turning out to be even more difficult after opening the patient's skull, the rush of adrenaline, the excitement. Only it was all oddly diffused that day. It wasn't just a case, he was operating on his friend's husband, the friend that he liked and respected. Tucker was barely hanging in there; he had a second bleed under the skull base. All the time throughout the surgery it was touch and go.

Although, he wasn't a hopeless case. He still breathed on his own; he had someone to breathe for, there was hope. Whereas, in Derek's case, there was no hope left. He was safe and sound, but in reality, broken to pieces, irrevocably and irreparably. And alone, which was, he didn't hold any illusions, not going to change. Could he even expect anything worse striking his life?

They were still a long time before any possible end of the procedure when his pager went off.

"Lawrence, could you check that?" he asked, his eyes and attention focused unchangeably on his patient.

The intern hurried to read the message, though baffled with its contents, moved to make a call through the hospital internal line.

"What'd they want?"

"They want us to evacuate!"

"Evacuate? Did they say why?" This time Derek lifted his vision up from the operating table giving the intern a sweeping glance. They were being ordered to leave the OR for some reason, that was surprising.

"Uh, no," Dr. Lawrence shook her head. "But your pager said code black."

Derek hung off his proceedings thinking he might have misheard, being too caught up with the demanding procedure. He stared at the intern, "You're sure they said that?"

"Yes," she confirmed gently.

Derek allowed himself a quick moment to ponder on the unexpected situation. "It could be a drill." It was probably just a safety exercise… He never encountered a real code black, meaning bomb threat, during all his career. On the other hand… what if it was a real life danger?

"Even if it's not a drill, I can't evacuate, I've got an open brain on the table," he took a quick resolve. His heart skipped a beat. It felt so surreal… Was he acting like some pathetic wanna-be hero? He snorted; it was not like he had anything to return to out there anyway. The best he could do was to continue trying to save the injured unconscious man left to his mercy. "I'm not leaving this man on the table with his skull flap open so… if anybody wants to go, they should go," he said looking around the room over the staff that composed his team that day. "Anybody want to evacuate? Going once, going twice, three times."

No one made other movement than a gentle shake of their heads. Everybody chose to stay, maybe out of their need to save a life, maybe because they didn't believe in the gravity of the situation.

"You're sure they said code black?" he intently addressed the intern once again.

"Yes," replied Dr. Laurence with absolute certainty and a deep nod of her head.

"Go find out what is going on."

Meredith let out a deep sigh during the pause in her announcement, forced by the insistent buzzing of the crowd of medical staff gathered before her. She could read their emotions so well from her elevated position on the stairwell; there was shock, disbelief, worry, fear… Whereas she, she wanted to run back to Dr. Wyatt's office and triumphantly announce "I told you", gloat about getting it right with the ominous feeling plaguing her since this morning.

She was in a state of constant alert, each and every tiny muscle in her body tense and ready for action. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins fast. She didn't sit down even once since she read the message on her pager followed by Patricia barging into her office with an expression of deep distress on her features. Karma must hate her; a week before the rankings coming up, she was getting a crisis situation on her plate. Not just any crisis situation, there was an unexploded highly dangerous ammunition in her hospital, ready to blast any given second, posing mortal danger to a patient and the highly skilled medical team supposed to be taking care of him. Plus, she had to endure the incompetent policemen running through her hospital, making more chaos than order in the corridors.

"We're having pre-op patients transported to Mercy West, all trauma rerouted to Seattle Presbyterian," she went on with her speech, making sure her voice was steady and reassuring. "There is no danger to the north, south and west wings of this hospital, just the east surgical wing. That said, anyone who wants to leave can leave. No one stays unless they volunteer to stay, understood?"

She was met with quiet murmurs and numerous nods.

"Okay," she said and went down the stairs to make her way through the assembly, slowed down by her coworkers demanding additional information.

"Meredith, is it code black? Really?" inquired Addison keeping up with her pace, Cristina and one of the interns, Dr. Lawrence, closely in tow.

"Yes, I shut down the ORs," she confirmed gravely.

"What? To trauma?" asked Cristina.

"To everything."

"Wait a minute," frowned Cristina. "To "everything" everything?"

Meredith sighed and halted to face the three doctors, "As of ten minutes ago, all the operating rooms at Seattle Grace were evacuated… with the exception of Dr. Hunt's team." She informed them throwing a cautious look at Cristina. For once, the laid-back doctor didn't look as composed as usual. Her eyes were wide and her lips open, like she didn't know what to say.

Meredith turned to walk away. She didn't want to stay and watch in case one of the strongest women she knew broke down. It wouldn't help her at all to keep a cool head. Yet, she was called back before she could move. She was pulled back knowing she wouldn't escape the state Dr. Yang was going through even if she hid from her in the opposite wing of the hospital. She knew she would have to go through the same hell as Dr. Lawrence's clear slightly apprehensive voice countered her previous statement, "And Dr. Shepherd's team."